


Predictable Enigma

by TedizStalker



Category: Newgrounds Rumble (Video Game), Pico's Cousin (Video Game), Pico's School (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Stories from a Bear, mild depictions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:59:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28731573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TedizStalker/pseuds/TedizStalker
Summary: Working as a new sheriff has its highs and lows. But things become puzzling once Otis is assigned to watch Newgrounds' most dangerous.Whereas Piconjo seems to find it easy to read his watcher's actions. These are but their first few months spent together.
Kudos: 9





	Predictable Enigma

Piconjo was a lot of things. But above all else, he was an enigma.

At least, that’s what the police kid initially thought.

It was his grandpa that gave the kid the name of the criminal, just as Piconjo was being led to a cell. It was explained to him that grandpa and the rest of the police department have been working tirelessly with Piconjo for almost sixteen years, and any remaining files of his history have yet to be recovered. But whatever was going on, Piconjo wouldn’t say anything about his past.

It was also in this moment that grandpa had assigned the police rookie to watch Newgrounds’ most notorious, a threat to society. If he could take down Damien, he should have no problem watching Piconjo… right? Regardless, while he was disgruntled with the idea of babysitting, the noirette took what he could, gathered his things and set up his office where a cell could be watched by him around the clock. The first thing that the kid was told is that the ginger, whom eerily looked like a warped version of his cousin, was prone to escaping. And if Piconjo said anything that wasn’t related to his past whatsoever, it was best to ignore him.

Piconjo’s first taunt to the kid once he was settled in his cell was “Kids like you should _fucking die_.” The tone in that taunt was laced with disgust and venom, and it held a promise to a threat should he seize the chance to escape.

That memory got Otis to shudder.

~~

Otis was a lot of things. But above all else, he was predictable.

At least, that’s what the immortal criminal initially thought.

Otis is just shy of being two years younger than his famous ginger-haired cousin. After fighting off the Penillians while in the process of rescuing his family, his grandpa had recognized Otis’ bravery. And despite sitting at the age of eleven, he was enlisted into the Portal Knot Police Force, not far from the portal gateway to Newgrounds. From what the kid told him; Otis found a note addressed to him on one of the school’s bulletin boards. It was from his mother. And it gave him instructions to meet at the station’s back door at 3:30 pm after school.

Despite being the only first cousin to the King of the Portal, Otis was a few things that Pico wasn’t. He ate a little more junk food, he was asthmatic, he never hung around any specific group of kids. And, up until he left school to continue his education from within the police station, Otis was that one kid who would play with the misfit children, who didn’t fit within a category like the jocks, goths, nerds, despite being almost as popular as Pico.

Compared to Pico, Otis is a bit of a wuss, that much the criminal could visually gauge. If he was a little scared, the noirette’s sarcasm filter vanishes, and he gets snarky with those that have put him on edge. But if something truly terrified him, he would be prone to go running to his grandpa as soon as possible.

That part, Otis didn’t say. But after Piconjo grabbed him by a sleeve and wouldn’t let him go, the second his arm was ripped off, Otis took off down the hallway screaming with the disembodied appendage chasing after him.

That memory got Piconjo to utter a low, amused chuckle.

~~

First impressions were terrible.

The first month since Otis was given the job to watch Piconjo and try to get as much info out of him as possible wasn’t easy for a little kid. And being just that, there was a time where Otis needed to answer to his bed time, especially during school nights.

“Bogus as Hell, why do I have to be in charge of babysitting him?” he mumbled to himself one time.

The complaint didn’t go unheard by Piconjo, as he just rolled his eyes and, for now, kept to himself.

~~

Otis is right. What the police are doing with death-row inmates… is that even legal?

Piconjo might be undead, and he does get the occasional itch to eat flesh, bone, and brains, but at the end of the day he is still human.

His hunger for some good fucking food outweighed old zombie habits.

And right now, he’s craving pizza.

The very same pizza that the young cop was stuffing his face with, followed by a big gulp of fizzy drink and a belch.

What a pig.

Biding his time, and crossing his fingers that the bottomless pit that is Otis’ stomach to finally hits a full point, Piconjo waits until the other eventually nods off to a food coma.

As quietly as he could, but with a slight wince in his frame, he grasps his left shoulder, allowing his claws to puncture skin easily before digging at the socket. With a tug, he is able to dislodge his entire left arm, fingers of the left hand flexing to test that it was just as active as his nagging thoughts in regards to pain. A pause, to make sure the kid didn’t wake up to the sudden smell of dry blood flooding the office and cell combo.

Once he drops the arm, the hand and fingers get to work dragging the rest of it across the floor, leaving a trail of blood. It was booking for the pizza box still half full of untouched slices. It hops up onto the bench, grasps the cardboard with claws digging in, while the elbow alongside the humeral head of the humerus bone poking above the tear dragged it back towards the bars. Kneeling down to collect his prize, Piconjo couldn’t resist giving the dozing cop the middle finger after reattaching his arm.

Finally: Some good fucking food! He could already taste the garlic, the tomato paste, the… whatever fucking toppings Otis asked for his pizza. And he hasn’t opened the lid yet! Anything and everything would taste so much fucking better instead of some poor sap pushed into the same cell as him.

A click catches his attention. Piconjo glances up with a raised brow.

“Give that back.” Otis’ tone pierces the dark. There’s a slight quiver in his voice.

“Make me, wuss.”

Perhaps a mistake, as the taser gun aimed at him begins to buzz.

“Call me a wuss one more time. Or get _tased._ ”

With an agility that shouldn’t be possible for a prisoner of his description, Piconjo clutches the pizza box and bolts for the back of the cell. Now he is out of range from both a kid’s arm reaching in between bars for the box, or even the taser. Unless Otis wanted to risk unlocking the door to fetch it himself.

But then this is why he’s labelled as Newgrounds’ most dangerous.

~~

Otis probably should have let Piconjo enjoy the fucking pizza.

Pain. A sharp pain in his back. Pretty sure it poked at his lungs.

How the Hell did Piconjo get a shiv behind bars?

Who gave it to him? Better yet, who gave him an appropriate item for him to carve a makeshift stabbing weapon with?

Questions that continued to run in Otis’ mind before shock caught up to him, and his sight fades to black. But not before hearing his grandpa hollering “Officer down! Call an ambulance!”

~~

At least he didn’t kill the kid, but he knew where to hit to send him into shock ASAP.

Piconjo was booking it. Using Otis’ open laptop, he rigged the security system into lagging on the way out, so there would be a slight delay by the time another guard slaps the button. Anyone who got in his way didn’t meet as merciful of an end as the kid.

The home stretch in view, he pushed himself to make it for the fence. He was about half way up when an intrusive thought caught his attention.

Fuck… hopefully he didn’t _actually_ murder the kid. _She_ wouldn’t like that…

A hand of his slaps down on electric wire at the top, and it jarred him from his thoughts. Well, more than that; it fried his nerves, charred his bones, left his hair in almost an afro as he fell from the wall like a shocked bird sitting on the telephone wire.

Uh-huh, guess Piconjo gets tased, after all.

~~

A month in hospital.

A month at home.

And a total of two months for Otis to take his mind off of that harrowing night by keeping his brain buried in education, and his downtime spent video chatting with his old school friends, playing video games, and keeping in touch with his cousin. At the end of summer break however, he would have to go back to work. Someone has to watch Piconjo.

He didn’t want to. Not after finally understanding the gravity of how dangerous this job really is. He missed the simpler tasks of going on patrols and catching road raging idiots doing the wrong thing. The first night back, he didn’t hide how terrified he was, hiding behind the desk and occasionally peeking out to see that the ginger hadn’t moved from his spot on the border cot.

He even flinches when Piconjo lifts his gaze from the floor to glance at Otis, before returning it to whatever pebble or blood stain that is there.

~~

Okay, so he knew _damn well_ that he fucked up.

Not in his botched attempt to escape, but to how much he really wanted to scare, let alone harm the kid cop. And there was a reason for that.  
A reason he quickly decides to bury in his mind with a scowl.

Kid is scared shitless of him. Up until now, he overheard phone calls and another excuse as to why Otis couldn’t come in during night that he’s wide awake, or even for a whole week. There’s no need to lie; it’s likely trauma.

 _‘Suck it up, n00b. We all have it.’_ Piconjo thinks with a slight eye roll, _‘And if j00 wanna roll with the punches in the police force, j00 better look into getting some therapy.’_

~~

But it doesn’t get better.

Otis would not talk to him.

Otis would ignore him if he instigates a conversation instead.

Otis doesn’t even order or smuggle his favorite junk food in anymore.

After a month of this fear-induced silence from the kid, Piconjo finally got fed up. He’s been saving this eyeball sitting in his gut for this occasion. After gagging and spitting the ball into his hand, he nonchalantly flicks it at the noirette’s head, watching it bounce off and getting an irked expression from him shortly after a disgusted look passes.

“How long are j00 planning to keep this silent treatment up for, n00b?”

At this question, Otis moved his gaze to resume looking at his laptop.

“Hey, if you’re not gonna look at me in the eyeball, then at least look at what’s on the ground and tell it that this is my fault. If you don’t start talking to me, anytime between now and the next time you stupidly leave open my cell door, I’m grabbing you by a fistful of your hair, and shoving your face through the fucking wall.”

An exasperated sigh. Otis closed his laptop with a show of ire judging from how much effort he put into slamming the lid shut.

“Alright, what the fuck do you want?”

There’s that no-filter sarcasm, the same attitude Otis shows when he’s nervous, rather than terrified. It’s enough to make the ginger smirk.

“Not a whole lot, besides food _other than_ death-row souls. And for all audio recorders to be turned off whenever I feel like talking. Wasn’t it part of your job? To get me to open up about my past?”

It was, wasn’t it?

Interest piqued, Otis grabs his office chair and, ignoring all mental warning signs of before, sits by the bars. Along the way, he does shut off the audio feed of his office, as well as grabbing a pen and a notepad.

“Make yourself comfortable, n00b. It’s actually been a long-ass while since I died, so my memory isn’t at my best…”

~~

This is as good of a start as any. But this is also the start of something new. Something unusual.

Otis isn’t as predictable as he seems.

And Piconjo isn’t as enigmatic as many still believe.

It still feels like he’s leaving out an important detail or two. But for now, it will suffice. The kid will type it down on a file on his computer and save it within his personal account, rather than upload it to the police force network. Otis will share it when Piconjo is ready to share it. It might be going against his job, but how else will he gain the ginger’s trust?

It’s still as good of a start as any.


End file.
